"Peg Kerr - The Wild Swans" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kerr Peg)

blood drained from her cheeks at the shock, and she dropped her basket, scattering dandelion roots in
the grass underfoot. Her hands flew to the neck of her dress, and she drew forth a narrow black ribbon
tied around her throat. A small gold locket strung on the ribbon fell into her muddy palm, glinting in the
sun.
She did not need to look at it to know: the coat of arms on the locket was the same, and that
realization brought with it a heady mixture of astonishment, excitement, and fear. She stood a moment
cupping the locket in her hand, until she had composed herself again, and finally let out a long, tremulous
breath. тАЬWell, then.тАЭ Her fingers closed tightly over the trinket, and then she tucked it back into her
dress.
Kneeling, she methodically gathered the roots back into the basket, her face serious and set. At the
well, she drew up a dripping bucket of water and washed her hands carefully. Scrubbing away the last
traces of the mud from her morningтАЩs work helped calm her nerves. Then she picked up the basket again
and went to the door of the cottage. Steeling herself, she firmly lifted the latch and went inside.
Long ago, the cottage had been divided into two main rooms, with two fireplaces, one in each room,
joined by a central chimney. The room she entered, the parlor, faced the front, and the other room, called
the hall, where the cooking was done, overlooked the garden in the back. The open parlor shutters let in
angled patches of sunlight that brightened the whitewashed plaster walls. Spring air wafted in with her
through the doorway, mingling with the smell of fresh-baked bread from the hall and muting the faint
under tang of damp wool, wood smoke, and lavender. A man and a woman, seated on three-legged
stools squeezed between the loom and the bed, rose hastily at ElizaтАЩs entrance. A somewhat older man
leaning against the wall drew in a sharp breath at the sight of her and straightened up more slowly. The
four stood frozen in a tableau for a breathless space, and then Eliza stepped away from the threshold and
closed the door. тАЬDo you seek me?тАЭ she said politely, setting her basket down.
тАЬMy dearest Lady Eliza,тАЭ the woman said impressively, stepping forward. She had a stout figure,
laced so tightly into- her fine dress of blue sarcenet that her color looked alarmingly high, despite a
generous dusting of powder. With the pretintailles appliqu├йs trimming her gown, the profusion of curls
dressed with a scarf of striped Siamese stuff, a la Sultana, and the beauty spot patches applied to her
forehead and cheeks, she looked the very figure of current French fashion; a more fantastic figure in an
English country cottage could scarcely be imagined. She smiled with benevolent brilliance and took
ElizaтАЩs hands. тАЬMy name is Mrs. Warren, and I serve as a companion to Lady James Grey, Countess of
Exeter. These are my escorts, Robert Owen,тАЭ she gestured toward the older man who had been leaning
against the wall when Eliza came in, тАЬand Edward Conway. We have been sent by your mother to bring
you home.тАЭ
тАЬMy mother is dead.тАЭ Eliza gently withdrew her hands from the otherтАЩs grasp. тАЬThis is my foster
motherтАЩs home. Do you mean my fatherтАЩs wife?тАЭ
Mrs. WarrenтАЩs smile slipped a little. She took a deep breathтАФor as deep as her stays would
allowтАФand tried again. тАЬIndeed, she is your fatherтАЩs wife, but that is hardly the term to use. In law, she is
your mother.тАЭ
She spoke evenly enough, but Eliza flushed at the suggestion of coldness that had crept into her voice.
Painfully conscious that she had made a mistake, she stammered, тАЬForgive me, madamтАФI beg your
pardon. I truly meant no offense.тАЭ
тАЬNone is taken, my lady,тАЭ replied Mrs. Warren, thawing once more.
тАЬAnd,тАЭ Eliza said, her heart beating quickly with shy eagerness, тАЬmy father wishes to see me, as well
as my mother-in-law?тАЭ
тАЬAye,тАЭ said another voice tightly at the doorway leading to the hall. It was Nell Barton, ElizaтАЩs foster
mother, wiping red-rimmed eyes with an apron as she came into the room. тАЬHe finally calls thee to his
side-тАФlike a poacher who starves and beats a faithful dog, yet still expects it to whistle to heel at his
pleasure.тАЭ
Mrs. Warren shot her a venomous look. тАЬHow durst you speak so of the Earl?тАЭ
тАЬPrithee, how durst he use his own daughter so? Left her with me for ten years, for ten years anтАШ it